


Assassin's Creed Book of One-shots

by AssassinOrTemplar



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cute, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Love, M/M, Multi, Reader-Insert, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 10:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssassinOrTemplar/pseuds/AssassinOrTemplar
Summary: A collection of reader insert one-shots involving your most favourite Assassin's Creed characters.





	1. Catch Me if you Can (Edward x Reader)

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya~
> 
> As everyone can probably tell, I'm obsessed with the Assassin's Creed franchise (I blame Ubisoft for creating such gorgeous characters). So, I've created this book for everyone else as obsessed as me to enjoy~!
> 
> I do also post these on Wattpad under the same name!

"Fire the starboard broadside!" You shout above the noise.

Cannons roar as your vessel, the Great White, attacks the enemy ship. The guns of the battery fire, pounding back against the heavy ropes that keep the cannons from skidding across the ship. Clouds of white smoke billow about as you continue to shout out orders to the crew.

"Swab! Powder! Wadding! Shot! Run out the guns!" You briefly glance at your crew, quickly and obediently obeying your every command, before returning your attention back to the prize. "Fire as the guns bear!"

They swab out the bore, push in a charge of powder, push wadding down on the powder, load the shot, push the gun out through the gunport, and fire the cannon, with you commanding each step of the process. "Swab, powder, wadding, shot, fire! Swab, powder, wadding, shot--"

Your order is quickly silenced as an enemy cannonball tears through the side of your ship, sending giant splinters of wood flying through the air. A rogue splinter, perhaps a yard long, rips through the stomach of Jenkins, a young boy which had only been aboard for a mere nine days. A fragment of a cannon ball collides with Harpers' arm, mangling it horribly. The crew freezes, stunned by the sudden carnage, as Jenkins and Harper scream in agony.

"Kipling!" you shout, earning the attention of one of the oldest and most experienced pirates aboard. "Take a few men and get Jenkins and Harper down to the surgeon!"

Kipling shouts a quick 'aye, Captain' as he and a few other men take the wounded below deck. Their screams continue to echo, but you do your best to push them from your mind and focus on the task at hand.

Though he couldn't yet be properly seen, you knew that the Captain of the ship you were pursuing, the Jackdaw, wore an arrogant smirk. You mentally cursed the man as you spun the big multi-handled wheel in the direction of the Jackdaw. You needed to make this a boarding action as quickly as possible. While maintaining a broadside to broadside fight, you set a course directly for his ship. Unfortunately the Captain anticipates your plan and attempts to edge away from you, trying to keep this a gunnery battle for as long as possible.

Despite the Jackdaws' best efforts, you close in rapidly and smoothly. Both the Jackdaw and Great White get off several more broadside attacks before you pull alongside the enemy ship.

At last, this battle now comes down to a boarding action. Members of your crew are already aboard the Jackdaw before you've even taken your hands from the wheel. Both crews scream and shout as they charge towards one another, waving cutlasses and firing flintlock pistols. Unsheathing your own cutlass, you leap across onto the deck of the Jackdaw alongside your comrades. Smythe, your loyal quartermaster, lands silently beside you and flashes a quick grin before charging into battle, waving a cutlass in one hand and an axe in the other.

You follow suit with a yell, daring somebody to take you on. One pirate turns to you, accepting your challenge, and rushes you from the left. With a smirk you turn and plunge your sword into his chest. He falls--but there is another diving in from the right, closing fast as you struggle to extricate your blade from his dead shipmate.

Having no time to yank your sword free, you let go of the hilt and spin around, levelling your pistol as your new opponent swings his sword. Steel whistles past your ear--you fire at point-blank range--and the pirate falls to the deck, a smoking hole in the centre of his chest. In a smooth motion you pick up the fallen enemy's sword and pistol to replace your own.

You turn your attention back to the task at hand: finding that smug son of a bitch.

A loud whistle directs your attention towards the helm of the ship, and lo and behold, there he is: Edward Kenway. The deadliest scourge of the seas. A Devil, cleverly disguised as man. Of course throughout your years of piracy you had heard tales about the infamous Edward Kenway, but never had you actually met the man. Until today.

He looks to you, and, with one hand, removes the hood which had kept his face concealed. Scraggy, gold locks capture the light of the sun overhead, while dark, kohl lined eyes capture your own. A smirk appears on his, surprisingly full, lips as he rests an elbow casually against the helm, completely ignoring the battle that continues to rage on around him. He waves a hand at you, challenging you to face him. You mirror his smirk and fight your way through the crew to reach your target, gracefully leaping over bodies that now litter the deck, and carefully avoiding the numerous blades being swung from all angles.

You have almost reached your goal when you find your way blocked by two massive, angry pirates standing shoulder to shoulder, swords drawn and charging at you.   
You howl an incoherent challenge and rush to meet them. Steel clangs against steel, and pain scores across your left leg as one of them lands a blow, though, luckily, not deep enough to do any serious damage. You manage to elbow one of them in the throat, and he falls back, choking curses. That gives you the opportunity you need to wound the other slightly and run before he recovers.

You sprint up the set of stairs leading to the quarterdeck and come face-to-face with the Devil himself. No words are exchanged as he unsheathes his cutlass and lunges. You sidestep, barely avoiding having your gut skewered. He spins on his heel and swings his blade, only this time you manage to block his attack with your own blade. Kicking your leg out, you make contact with his stomach, causing him to stagger back. You waste no time in charging at him with your sword, but unfortunately he catches your wrist and in an instant, your back is pressed hard against his chest.

His breath tickles as he chuckles beside your ear. "I must admit I'm a little disappointed, lass. All these months of endless pursuit, well, I was expecting a bit more of a challenge."

"But, Captain Kenway," you started, tightening the grip you kept on the hilt of your cutlass, "I haven't even begun to challenge you."

He released his hold on you after feeling your elbow plunge into his ribs. Quickly bringing the heel of your boot down onto the toe his foot, you spin, swinging your elbow and making contact with his nose. A sickening crunch, and an array of colourful words, follow suit as he staggers away. Blood seeps through his fingers currently clutched around his nose.

Anger flashed across his features. He lunged, his rage making him reckless, but you danced out of the way. Both of you took a few steps apart, taking a few moments to analyse one other. Funnily enough you couldn't understand why so many feared the man. Not only was his footwork slow, but his movements alone were sloppy and in desperate need of refining. He was impulsive and lacked experience that was required to defeat you.

From numerous rumours that have been whispered into your ear, it was clear now that that's exactly what they were: rumours.

Edward lunged, his blade hacking at your throat. You dodge it easily and knock the steel away. He didn't pause, and immediately brought his sword in low and up in a dip, the point heading straight for your stomach. However, your sword came to life and caught his swing. With a flick of your wrist, Edwards' sword flew into the air and landed a few feet away, hitting the deck with a clink.

Pressing the tip of your blade into his neck, you smiled triumphantly, noticing that, not only had you defeated THE Captain Kenway, but his crew had also surrendered and were in the process of being tied up.

Edward forced a grin, "It seems I was wrong. You are a challenge."

"Tell me something I don't know, Sugar," you said. Smythe joined your side, a length of rope in his hands. "On your knees, Kenway," you ordered, gesturing to the deck with your cutlass.

Edwards' eyes flickered around the ship before snapping back to your face. He held his hands up in surrender, the corner of his mouth turning upward momentarily. His miniscule smile swiftly became a wince as Smythe tied his hands securely behind his back, then forced him onto his knees.

"So, you finally caught me, huh?" Edward looked you straight in the eye. "What's your name, lass?"

You slipped your cutlass back into its sheath and placed your hands on your hips. "(L/N). Captain (L/N).

A look of surprise flashed across his face, but was instantly replaced by a strange smile. "You're Captain (L/N?)"

"Ah, so you've heard of me," you cast him an amused look.

"Kind of difficult not to hear about you, lass. Seems every tavern I step foot into I hear your name being whispered among seamen and drunkards alike. Though I must admit, you're not exactly what I had imagined."

You raised a brow, "Oh?" You squatted in front of him, cocking your head to the side, "And what, exactly, were you imagining?"

"Well for one, I had always presumed that Captain (L/N) was a man," he admitted, his eyes travelling down to your chest before flicking back to your face.

"Most people do," you said, with a sly smile, "until they actually meet me."

"At which point," he said, "they can't help but be disabused by their erroneous notion."

Your smile widened at that, "You flatter me, Kenway."

"I also never would have imagined that you'd be so beautiful," he continued, a seductive smirk taking over his features.

"Are you always this charming?" A sweet smile grazed your lips. "Or does getting tied up by strange women always bring out the best in you?"

"Wouldn't know about that, lass," he shifted on his knees and leant forward, moving his face closer to yours. "I'm the one that usually does the tying up," he whispered suggestively.

Your heart skipped a beat at his innuendo and you averted your gaze, hoping that he would mistake your blushing for sunburn. Clearing your throat, you muttered, "There's a first time for everything I suppose."

"Aye. That there is, lass. Tell me...have you ever been tied up?"

"No. Nobody's ever caught me before," you said, pretending not to understand what it was he was implying.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards, "Well then, maybe I can change that."

An image of him tying you down on his bed occupied your mind, causing your mouth to turn dry. You shook your head to clear such thoughts. Why is this affecting you so much? You've flirted with many a man over the years, and bedded just as many. Something as frivolous as this shouldn't be having such an effect. Though to be honest, none of those other men have been nearly as attractive as this Kenway fellow.

You turn your attention back to him to find him staring at you with great intensity. Was he always that close? Your lips curved into a playful smirk. There's certainly no reason not to have a little fun. Nothing wrong with a little flirting, after all.

"What makes you think you can catch me, Kenway?"

"Cause I won't stop 'til I do."

You shook your head, a look of amusement on your face, "We'll see about that. In the meantime, however, let's talk about why I'm here."

"Here to steal my ship, no doubt."

Looking around the Jackdaw you gave a nod of approval, "She is a beautiful ship alright, and I certainly would love to claim her as my own, but luckily for you, that's not why I'm here."

Edward narrowed his eyes, "Then why are you?"

"Well, Kenway..." you began, placing a hand on his chest, "...you have something that I so desperately want."

You slid your hand down, feeling the roughness of the linen against your palm and the hidden skin beneath his robes. The muscles beneath your hand were thick and taut as steel, a testament to the manual labour one undergoes on a ship. Sliding your hand further down, you stopped once reaching the top of his breeches. Edward tensed faintly, his eyes narrow and filled with curiosity. Slowly, you glided your fingertips across the band of his breeches until you reached his hip, then continued sliding your hand down his thigh.

"If what you want is down there, love, maybe we should take this little search somewhere more private," Edward whispered beside your ear.

"Now there's a tempting suggestion," you smirked, moving your face closer to his until your lips were mere inches apart. Your hand slipped into his pocket, and your fingers wrapped around what you had been searching for for the past few years. "But I think I just found what I wanted."

You withdrew you hand with a victorious grin and stood tall, holding the small crystalline cube towards the sun. The drop of blood contained inside shone brightly. You finally had the proof that the Observatory was more than just a simple myth.

"Oi! That belongs to me, lass!" Edward snarled as he attempted to get to his feet, only to be forced back by Smythe. Edward glared at the enemy quartermaster as a gun was held to his forehead.

"Correction, Kenway...it used to belong to you. It now-," you slipped the blood vial into you pocket, "-belongs to me. All we need now is the Sage."

Edward frowned as he turned his attention to you, "This is what this is all about then, eh? The Observatory? How the hell do you even know about it?"

"I think the more appropriate question is: how do you?"

You knelt before him once again, unfastened the top buttons of your blouse, and pulled the fabric aside, allowing him full view of the Assassin insignia tattooed into your skin.

He didn't bother to hide his surprise. "You're an Assassin."

"And you're not," you ran your fingertips around the Assassin symbol tied securely to the front of his belt. "Why are you wearing Duncan Walpole's robes?"

"The lad was kind enough to lend 'em to me," he shrugged.

"Hmm, how very generous of him." Getting to your feet, you made your way over the helm of the Jackdaw and shouted, "Salvage the ship."

Hatred filled Edwards eyes, "I thought you weren't here to steal my ship."

"Oh the ship is still yours, Sugar. I'm just taking what you owe me."

"I owe you nothing, lass."

"Oh but you do. There's a huge hole in the hull of my ship because of you, and two of my men are incapacitated and unable to work. Costly damage that is," you said with a slight nod. You then cocked your head to one side, eyeing the twin pistols strapped on the sides of his muscular chest. "Nice pistols."

He shot a quick glance down at his weapons before snarling, "Don't you dare!"

Too late.

Both pistols were already resting comfortably in your hands. You inspected both pistols carefully before slipping them into the holsters on your thighs. Your crew milled about the ship, taking whatever they had set eyes upon, and swiftly returned to the Great White, now patiently awaiting your departure of the Jackdaw.

Smythe joined your side with a shake of his head, "No sign of the Sage, Captain."

You silently nodded in response. Where in the hell could that lobcock be? You ordered Smythe to prepare the ship for departure. "Looks like it's time for me move on. It's been a pleasure, Captain."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey!" Edward protested at your retreating figure. "That's it? You salvage most of my ship; rob me of my weapons and the blood vial; and now you're going to just leave us tied up?"

You blinked, "Well...yes." You walked away, leaping across onto the quarterdeck of the Great White. Wind filled the now unfurled sails, and the bow began to slowly slice through the waves.

"This ain't over, (L/N). Once I free myself of these binds, I will hunt you down and take back what you've stolen!" Edward screamed after you.

Leaning over the ship's bannister, a cocky grin spread across your face as you mock-saluted him.

"Catch me if you can, Kenway!"


	2. A Master's Touch (Altaïr x Reader)

_Blood._

_So much blood._

_Figures surround you, corner you, grab you. They hide behind masks. Their laughter, cruel and demeaning, reverberate against the walls._

_Rope binds your wrists and ankles. The coldness of the ground makes you shiver. Noises deafen you. Consume you. Furniture being tossed aside. Your mother's frantic screams. The cries of your younger sister as they drag her outside. Grunts of effort, of pain, of failure. The unmistakable sound of steel piercing flesh. Your father falls, then your brothers. An ocean of red._

_Air nips at your skin. Fabric is torn from your body. You struggle, scream, but it's not enough. They're stronger than you. Hands. So many hands, grabbing, frenzied, demanding. Then...pain. Searing, white hot pain. It's unbearable. Agonizing. Your mind barely registers that someone new has arrived._

_A man...cloaked in white robes._

_He fights them. He's outnumbered, but somehow comes out on top. He kills most of them. The others flee before they, too, fall to this mysterious man's blade._

_He kneels beside your broken form. His lips move, but you're unable to process the words. A hand brushes your cheek and you flinch at the sudden contact. The hand withdraws, an apology muttered. Your body is lifted and warmth envelops you. A pair of strong arms cradle you, protect you, soothing words being murmured. You feel safe._

_Heavy eyelids force themselves open. All you can see is crimson. Crimson drenched steel...crimson splattered walls...crimson rivers..._

_...A crimson cross._

\----------------

Pain erupts across your back as the earthen ground greets you, scraping your palms. You lay for a while, motionless, struggling to regain your breath.

"What causes your distraction this time, (Y/N)?"

Rauf hovers above your beaten form, momentarily guarding you from the harshness of the sun raging wildly overhead. A pained gasp escapes your lips as you force yourself into a sitting position, despite the furious protests from your aching muscles.

"Nothing," you ground out through clenched teeth. "I'm fine." Accepting the outstretched hand, Rauf pulls you to your feet with ease.

But you weren't fine. Not in the slightest. That terrible day still haunts your every waking moment. Every night is spent tossing and turning as their laughs tear apart your mind. Those monsters...Templars...were still out there. Somewhere.

A sigh escapes the more experienced Assassin. "We have been over this many times, (Y/N). You must keep your mind concentrated on what it is you are doing, at all times. You cannot - dare not - allow your mind to wander as it just has. Such wandering could have dire consequences. Keep your mind focused on the task at hand. On your opponent. On victory."

"I'm trying, Rauf." Your tongue darts out, catching the drop of blood seeping through the slit on your bottom lip.

"I understand that, (Y/N), but unfortunately time is of the essence." Rauf leaps over the wooden railing of the training area, offers you a hand, and helps you over. "The Master grows tiresome of your lack of progression. He feels you are wasting, not only his time, but yours as well."

The muscles in your jaw tightened, "Do you think I'm wasting my time?"

Rauf placed a hand on your shoulder, but feeling the muscles beneath his hand clench, quickly withdrew, an apologetic smile visible beneath his hood. "I think that's a question you should be asking yourself."

"I don't believe I'm wasting my time." You inwardly cringe, from both the uncertainty in your own voice, and the subtle pursing of your mentors lips. Your eyes glided across Masyaf castle, to the archers patrolling the rooftops, to the other Assassins coming and going, and back into the shadowed face of Rauf. "Tell me I'm not wasting my time. Please."

His shoulders slumped as he exhaled. "I don't think you're wasting your time," he said slowly, deliberately, choosing each word carefully. "But the others, however...they wish to see you gone. I believe they are the reason why Al Mualim is no longer willing to formally introduce you into the Brotherhood, unless you prove yourself worthy. Prove you can be one of us. You have the potential, (Y/N)."

"What would you have me do, Rauf?"

"I have taught you everything I can. Perhaps finding someone with a different training method would help."

You cast your eyes downward, suddenly ashamed to look Rauf in the eye. You hated having to walk away from Rauf after two months of endless training. Everyday he taught you what he knew, trained you, gave you advice, gave you his time. And for what? Just for you to throw it back into his face two months later. It seemed so...ungrateful.

"The Master has given you until dawn tomorrow. I advise you do not waste what little time you have left." Rauf placed a closed fist over his heart, bowing his head slightly. "I hope to see you prove my Brothers wrong, (Y/N). Safety and Peace, Sister."

You mimicked his actions, "Thank you for all you have done, Rauf. I swear to you, I won't let you down. Safety and Peace, Brother."

Your eyes followed his retreating figure, contemplating his words, and once he was truly out of sight, you walked briskly towards the castle.

One day. One day to learn enough that'll allow you remain in the Brotherhood. Shouldn't be too difficult. Now all you had to do was find someone willing to waste their time in training you.

But who?

Making your way silently through the hallway, you stop and peer out of the window and into the gardens below, where you find the distinctive figure of Altair slashing the air with his blade, no doubt honing his already admirable skills.

If anyone was capable enough to train an inexperienced novice such as yourself, Altair would be that person. The only problem was, would he agree to your request?

Resting your forehead against the glass, a tiny smile played on your lips as you watched him reach for his hood and pull it down, giving you full view of the handsome features he often kept hidden. He runs his fingers through light brown hair, the sweat creating untidy spikes, unaware he was being watched.

"Loafing as usual, I see."

Suppressing an irritated groan, you peeled your forehead from the glass, your upper lip curling in disdain. "What do you want, Abbas?"

"You mean other than to see you fail?" Abbas lounged negligently against the window frame, arms folded, one scuffed boot crossed over the other, the corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "I'm interested in knowing why you insist on wasting our time."

"I don't find it a waste of time in wanting to be one of you," you retort, (colour) eyes narrowing faintly.

Abbas chuckled, dark eyes glimmering with amusement. "You'll never be one of us. Women have no place here."

"And yet, here I am."

Dark brows crease together at the smug undertone evident in your voice. "Yet here you are," Abbas repeated, following your gaze out the window. "I wouldn't hold my breath, novice. Altair may have saved your life, but that doesn't mean he'll be as inclined to waste his time on a lost cause."

"Let's allow Altair to make that decision, hmm?" Your lips tightened to keep you from saying anything further. Time was running short. You didn't need to waste anymore by arguing with Abbas.

Abbas simply smirked, gesturing towards the gardens below. "Then by all means, ask him. But don't say I didn't advise you otherwise."

○●○●○●○●○●○●

Altair swung his blade in an arc, slowly at first, then gradually building up speed. He gracefully moved from one stance to another, lunging and parrying an invisible enemy's attacks.

The grass crunched beneath your boots as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, silently admiring from a distance as Altair trained.

Perhaps seeking his help was a bad idea after all. There was no way you would ever match up to his skill. He was a master with a blade, and you could barely even hold yours.

"Something you need, (Y/N)?"

You froze at the sound of his voice. Altair glanced briefly over his shoulder, never stopping his movements. "Um, well...I...the thing is...,"

Even though only half of his face was visible, it was painfully clear that he was becoming irritated at your stuttering. Eyes squeezing shut, your lungs refused to allow any more air to enter into your body until you told him what you wanted. Best just to get it over with.

"I want you to train me," you blurted, your body instantly becoming rigid when he allowed his blade to droop down to his side.

"You want me to train you." He repeated your words slowly and carefully, golden eyes focusing on your slightly trembling form, but remaining completely unreadable.

You clasped your hands together, knotting your fingers and squeezing tight. You sucked in a deep breath through already constricted lungs and felt light-headed as the only thing you could manage were shallow sips of the hot evening air. "Yes," you finally managed with a small nod, eyes locking with his.

The corners of his mouth turned down in blatant disapproval but you rushed on without giving him a chance to refuse. "It would not take up very much of your time. And I am a quick learner...well, actually that's not true at all, but if I was taught by someone of your expertise, then I could-"

"No." The word was clipped, authoritative. Final. He turned away from you, raising his blade once more and continuing on with his training as though you were no longer present.

He had said no. You closed your eyes, then opened them again to find yourself still staring at the expanse of his broad back. He couldn't refuse. He simply couldn't. "But-," you opened your mouth to object his obvious, and rude, dismissal.

"(Y/N), the answer is no," he said without turning around.

"You have to. You owe it to me, to help me."

He froze mid-swing, and slowly turned around to face you. Though you wish he hadn't. "I owe you? Was saving your life not enough?" His voice was quiet, dangerous.

Your tongue flicked out to wet your lips, "No, no, t-that didn't come out right." Your booted feet shifted in the dirt before trying again. "I meant that, as Assassins, we have a duty to the Brotherhood, do we not?"

"Yes," he shrugged, relaxing a little now.

"So, Assassins have a duty to protect the Brotherhood, and in order to fulfil such a duty, we all must know how to properly wield a blade."

"Makes sense," he nodded after a moment.

"So you'll train me?" Your eyes flicked up to his.

"No."

"But, Altair, you don't understand," your words felt like they were being torn from you. He wasn't going to help. Panic began to claw away at your insides, and on the verge of that, a tiny spark of anger was beginning to simmer and burn.

"I understand completely," he fired back. "You expect me to teach you how to wield a blade, to fire a crossbow, so you can go and do something foolish and probably get yourself killed in the process. My answer is no." His eyes narrowed.

"I have to be able to defend the Brotherhood!."

"This request of yours has nothing to do with the Brotherhood! All you want is vengeance!"

"Wouldn't you?" You demanded hoarsely, abruptly realising that your hands were balled into fists at your side. "Answer that, Altair. Tell me the truth. How would you feel?" Your words rang out across the garden.

Altair's expression softened a fraction, "(Y/N), listen to me. This is not a good idea. If you would only stop and think about what it is you are asking of me, you would see that."

"I am not about to rush out and begin massacring guards. Please." You forced down the anger, knowing that it wouldn't help your cause. "I need to learn how to fight."

"If you hadn't been meddling in the affairs of others, you wouldn't need to learn how to fight!"

You recoiled as though he had slapped you. "Is that what you truly believe, then?" You nearly choked on the words, your stomach dropping as you stared into his harsh face. "That it was my own fault?" With a shaky breath you turned your back on him, wrapping your arms around your midsection and stalking towards the edge of the garden. You prayed the ground beneath your feet would split open and swallow you whole. That you could fall asleep and never wake up. You wished to strike something. To scream and curse at the heavens.

Memories undulated through the darkest recesses of your mind. They played on a continuous, sickening loop, never fully going away, just at times more noticeable than others. Being tied down. A blade piercing your father's heart. The look of terror on your family's faces. Would these images eventually dissipate? Or will they continue to haunt every waking moment until the last breath leaves your body?

Behind you, Altair exhaled sharply and swore. You turned in time to see Altair coming towards you. He halted a few feet from you, reached for your arm but stopped upon seeing you shy away from him, and allowed his arm to fall back to his side. You glanced at him, but then let your eyes glide away from his intense scrutiny, fearful of him seeing the pain and chaos raging inside your head.

Altair swore again, softly this time. "Is that what you thought I meant? That what those...things...did to you, was your fault?"

"Things?" You repeated, still unable to look him in the eye.

"I refuse to call them men," he said flatly. "Answer me. You honestly think I would blame you on what happened? That you deserved to be raped, and forced to watch them slaughter your family?"

You flinched away at his words, not ready to hear them spoken aloud. Not yet.

"I would never say that, (Y/N). I would never think that."

"Fine," you eventually shrugged. "It doesn't matter anyway. If you will not train me, then I will find someone who will."

Altair's gaze followed you as you brushed past him, but you no longer cared. He was leaving you no choice. The thought of losing your place in the Brotherhood made your blood run cold. If you fail in proving to Al Mualim that you deserved to be an assassin by dawn tomorrow, then all hopes of avenging your family dies.

There had to be someone else willing to train you. There just had to be.

Fingers bit sharply into your upper arm and you whirled on Altair, still snared in his grasp. Your startled gaze flew up to him, questioningly.

"I shall train you," he spoke softly, golden eyes falling to where four, long, tanned fingers were still wrapped firmly around your arm. "But I will not go easy on you. Be ready."

○●○●○●○●○●○●

Your swords came together in a terrible clash.

Night had fallen, and all that could be heard was steel scraping steel and laboured breathing. The hours had passed slowly, and your body was feeling every second of it. The blade became increasingly harder to hold, your blistered palms and throbbing arms begging for sweet relief. Sweat poured down your forehead and into your (colour) eyes, the stinging momentarily blinding you, but there was no time to wipe them clear.

In the beginning you were on the offense, just as Altair had instructed, but now all you were capable of doing was warding off his blows, too tired to advance against him. Altair was stronger than you initially imagined. It was simple to see why he had risen to the level of Master Assassin at such a young age, and why Al Mualim favoured him so.

As the struggle wore on, you searched desperately for an opening. Some hidden opportunity to gain the upper hand. But Altair blocked every move, and every advance seemed to be anticipated before you had a chance to get a single hit in.

His blade swung hard, colliding with yours, the reverberation causing your grip to falter on the hilt of your blade. Altair, seeing an opportunity, struck at once. Time slowed as he knocked the sword from your hand. You watched it flip and fly overhead, finally coming to a rest somewhere in the tall grass.

The cold tip of Altair's blade sent a shiver down your spine as it was pressed lightly against your neck. He smirked as your eyes met his, "I must say, I'm impressed."

"Impressed?" You repeated, eyebrows knitting together. "But I failed."

He sheathed his blade, and, with the back of his hand, wiped the sweat from his forehead. "What makes you think you have failed?"

"Because not once did I defeat you. I lost my blade every time."

"True," he agreed with a nod. "But I never expected you to defeat me. All I expected was for you to learn enough in order to hold your own against me, and you succeeded. You made a lot of progress today. I'm proud of you."

The sound of approval in his voice was enough to make your stomach flip. "I...thank you, Altair," you mumble while turning your head away, cheeks growing hotter by the second. If only he knew how much those words actually meant to you...

"You should go and get some rest," Altair nodded in the direction of the castle. "It will be a big day for you tomorrow."

Wrapping your arms around your midsection, you turn your back on him, staring up at the castle, nausea bubbling in the pit of your stomach. What if everything you learned today was not enough? What if you forget all you had learnt? What if, despite your best efforts, Al Mualim still turns you away? What if you never get the opportunity to avenge your family?

What then?

"There's nothing for you to worry about, (Y/N)." Altair sounded close, right behind you. "You have learnt enough that will ensure your place in the Brotherhood."

A faint nod was all you could muster. Being accepted into the Brotherhood was only half your concern. The other half lay in whether you would be strong enough to confront those that took everything from you.

"(Y/N)..."

Altair's chest brushed against your back and a quick, involuntary shiver danced along your nerve endings. You froze, eyes widening when, a split second later, Altair's arms slid up and over, gliding across your curves and wrapping themselves around your own crossed arms. His hands came to rest over your fingers. His forearms skimmed the top of your ribcage and you inhaled sharply.

He buried his face into the hollow between your neck and shoulder and spoke softly. "Don't do anything foolish," the words a low, heated rumble against your skin.

"You know I can't promise that," you gasped. What the hell was he doing?! "This life that I've chosen for myself. Sometimes-" you faltered when his arms tightened. "Most of the time...it'll be dangerous."

"I know that," he growled. "No one knows that better than I do." He loosens his hold on you only to slowly turn you around in the circle of his arms. His face lowered to yours and, when he spoke, his voice was low and raspy. "Don't think for one second that I'm not proud of what it is you're trying to do. I am. And I understand you wanting to avenge your family." He rested his forehead against yours. "But I don't want you putting yourself in harms way unnecessarily."

"A-Altair, I..."

Your sentence was left unfinished as the only thing you could focus on was Altair's hands moving up to frame your neck and fitting his mouth to yours.

The touch of his lips was hard and rough, near frantic in its intensity. He sucked in a harsh breath, and with it he seemed to grow taller, until he towered over you. It was true he towered over you all the time, though not by much.

His mouth moved hungrily over yours before pulling back and staring down at you. This was all so frightening, but not in the same way you've experienced over the past six months. What was frightening was the fact for the first time in months you didn't feel the need to watch your back, or feel afraid. Altair was nothing to fear.

Altair had one strong arm around your neck, and the other encircled comfortably around your waist. One hand cupped the back of your head, urging you close until you were tucked close to his chest and sheltered in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

Your hands rested on the broad expanse of his chest, feeling the roughness of the linen against your palms and the hidden skin beneath his robes. The muscles beneath your palms were thick and taut as steel. Wide-eyed, you stared up at him, those beautiful golden eyes sparkling beneath the moonlight as they gazed at you with an intensity that captured your breath and cleared your mind.

In a trance, you raised yourself onto the tips of your toes, clinging to his shoulders for support, and closed the remaining gap between your bodies. He stood rigidly still while your lips brushed his chin and moved up a little higher to explore the roughness of his mouth.

Abruptly, his control snapped and you found yourself snatched even deeper into his heat. Lips moved roughly, passionately, against your own. His laboured breathing mingled with your own. Your hands clutched handfuls of his robes, pulling him closer. Altair's own hands grew restless and entangled themselves within your hair.

"(Y/N)..." he whispered raggedly, stroking the side of your face with his thumb.

A loud, exaggerated cough sounded behind you both, close behind. Altair tensed before he looked up, grimaced, and let his forehead rest against yours.

Your entire body froze, automatically knowing the identity of the throat-clearer. Abbas.

"Pardon me for interrupting," he said, not sounding the least bit remorseful. "But Al Mualim is asking for you, Altair."

Your fingers knotted in the fabric of Altair's robes. He was still breathing heavily. Your lips continued to tingle, the taste of him still fresh and messing with your senses. It took a moment for Abbas' words to completely register, but once they did you reluctantly slackened your grip, and took a small step backwards.

"I, um...I should probably be going," you smiled, lips swollen from the fervour of his kisses, and went to turn away, only to stop as Altair grasped your wrist, pulling you back.

"I wish you luck for tomorrow...habiti." He whispered before placing a gentle kiss upon your lips.

Slightly dazed, you slipped away from his embrace, and clumsily made your way back towards the castle, but not before shooting Abbas a smug smile.


End file.
